Russia's Memoirs

Fanfic inspired by Axis Powers Hetalia anime and the Russian song "Agony" by Linda, and of course, Russia's interesting and bloody history ^^ (though not all of it was bloody and gory, there were good times also). Also, facts about Russia and its leaders may not be accurate (I don't really trust Wikipedia.. _)

This is purely fanfic! It was something I just had to let out after learning about Russia's strange behavior in the anime and hearing the song and some of the horror in Russia's past. Please do not be offended by anything that may or may not offend you in this fanfic. ^^ *

WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS PURE SADNESS AND DEPRESSION SO IF YOU A EASILY DEPRESSED OR SAD PERSON OR EMO, I PLEASE EXPECT YOU TO LEAVE. THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU LIKE!

I'm sorry for uploading this pic. I had no other dramatic one and I thought this would fit it ;^;

Prologue 01. Creatures of Winter

They all feared him. Kept their distance and talked in nervous tones when addressing him. He could see the horror and uncertainty reflected in their eyes at his massive form, at his rough brutality. He witnessed the stirred conversations about him behind his back; nothing that disrespected him, of course, but everything about their manner made him know that they weren't talking good about him either. And why, he wondered, as he sat in his dark room one day, should it hurt him so? Why, he asked himself, should he care whether he was hated or not?

But only at night, when General Winter softly knocked on his window, the snow pounding against the thin wall that separated him from the coldness of his country, did he shiver and feel the icy tears streaming down his cheeks. Only at night, when the moon cast haunting shadows against his motionless form, sitting and staring at the wall, did he experience the most horrible and avid agony in his chest.

He would huddle into a ball, try his hardest to shut his eyes tight and drown out the flashing images in his head, to erase all the memories that scorched his mind and released the tormenting monsters into the world. And he tried so hard. Tried so hard to keep the part of him that was the most precious thing he had intact- his sanity. His eyes would crack and blood would stream down his cheeks instead of water, the veins on his hands would pulse from his effort of control, and his mouth would open and croak the words, "Kolkolkolkol," again and again. He didn't know who he was cursing; he just knew that the sound of the word was so comforting, that it sent other countries into fear, fear of his power and force.

But would such a childish threat work on the creatures of winter that ravished and feasted upon him?

Prologue 02. Ivan the IV

The day Ivan Braginski was born, the world was in a turmoil. Wars slaughtered and tortured the countries around him and wherever he turned, blood rained down upon his land. When he opened his eyes on the evening of his birth, all he saw was a gray, cloudy sky, and white flakes falling from the sky; flakes that turned a dark red as soon as they touched the ground. The crimson color of war, he had thought and remembered to this day.

He also remembered a young man standing in the snow. Staring at him through veiled eyes. The man opened his mouth and whispered, "Russia, мой сын." His name was Vladimir, the man who was his father, who had tamed the wild country drenched in snow and ice, someone who had, in truth, never really tamed him at all. Decades went by, Vladimir passed away, and his son took over the country of Russia. Ivan, who had always stuck in the shadows while Vladimir was alive, continued to be pressed even farther back. His eyes witnessed the rise and decline of his country, of the numerous rulers who had failed and succeeded, of the Great and Terrible Tsars that destroyed or better him. But in his head, he wished for all the horror to end. He did not like the bloodshed, the killing, that he caused. Ivan would have given anything to keep the peace that occasionally graced Russia, when someone powerful yet fair led his country without the slaughtering of thousands of people. But peace was always short-lived and when it ceased, the blood forever stained Russia's snow.

One Tsar in particular would always haunt him. It was Ivan the IV, someone named after him, who changed him into the person he was now.

Ivan the IV was the very first of the Tsars and he ruled with an iron fist. Though most described him as strict rather than cruel, there was a ruthlessness in his manner that scarred the lives of his people. When Ivan the IV was just a child, his father died of blood poisoning and later on, his mother was murdered by poisoning. And so, the young boy was thrust into the Shuisky family, where he was neglected and abused. It didn't help that Ivan was already unstable, suffering from a mental disorder that caused him to occasionally break down and go insane.

He had always been in pain. When his first wife died and his illness nearly caused his death, Ivan's personality changed. He became suspicious of betrayal and revolt from those around him and murdered when necessary. Soon, war broke out in Russia and with the combination of droughts, famine, and a deadly plague, the number of dead rose to over 10,000. Ivan the IV eventually grew so unbalanced and violent that he ordered his followers to burn and pillage the city of Novgorod. This came to be known as the 1570 Massacre of Novgorod, where over 60,000 people lost their lives.

So cruel and pitiful was Ivan the IV that Ivan Braginski himself was affected. As the Tsar continuously battled the dark creatures of his mind, Ivan had stood in the background and watched. There were so many things he remembered about the Tsar- the way the hands of the dead clung to him until the day of his actual death; the complete despair and sadness on Ivan's face as he sat in his room and stared at the ceiling, his gaze wide and fearful, mumbling incoherent words under his breath…

Ivan Braginski could close his eyes and clearly feel the pain in his heart as he had the day he witnessed the Tsar slowly and steadily break down, tearing at his skin until blood surfaced from the wounds; could hear the man's chilling scream of agony as his mind gradually deteriorated into dust. On that day, tears had formed in Ivan's eyes as he heard the Tsar's hollow whisper, "Я хочу мира в паразитической вещи, которая является моим разумом. Peace and nothing else."

When Ivan the IV passed away, Ivan Braginski had quietly stood over the man's grave and paid his respect. But a deep chill had crept up his back as he realized that some kind of transformation had overtaken him. After that day, Ivan began to have nightmares more frequently. Before, of course, he always felt an ache in his heart at the thousands laying dead on his snowy land, but now it was worse. Every night, the image of Ivan the IV tortured his mind, the man's struggle and the blood slipping from the bodies he had hacked…

The inescapable anguish the Tsar had experienced now suddenly flowed through his veins. Whenever he gazed upon the collapsed landscape of Russia, Ivan felt a deep and icy hatred well in his chest. Rage and sorrow intertwined themselves to form the new him… and Ivan soon became as hard as the frozen snow, as cruel as the endless, raging winter.

Prologue 03. Dreams of Sunflowers

Ivan Braginski always hated sleeping. When he slept, it was so bitterly cold. The white snow cushioned his head, but as he closed his eyes, it turned into a beast that pushed against him, trying to tear him apart with its cold fingers. Every night, he would have to force himself to keep his eyes shut and ignore the urge to scream and run to a place where there was no snow. No snow to haunt him, to remind him of the past.

His dreams were always disjointed. Bits and pieces of mock fantasies about peaces and alliances, an end to all wars and prosperity for everyone. But no matter what, they were always mixed in with the ugly truth and terror of reality.

And so, because of this, Ivan Braginski rarely slept unless he had to. When he was tired, he would fall down on the snow and raise his face upward to the sky, empty his mind out, and stare. Pictures would flash through him, but they weren't, for once, about war. He saw places leading out to a wide and expansive forest, of an ancient building with vines woven on its walls, a beautiful field full of lovely and bright flowers. Ivan laid there staring and he could almost make himself believe that he was in that field, smelling the sweet aroma of the flowers surrounding him.

It was his first escape from reality.

When the wars escalated and all he could see were corpses everywhere, when the other countries feared his mercilessness and secretly wished for his death, Ivan found the field to be his sanctuary. It was so easy to forget everything once he was laying and gazing into the dark sky. So easy to ignore all around him and imagine himself dancing through the boundless rows of flowers.

And with that, he slowly begin to embrace dreams again. The first night he dared to close his eyes and sleep, Ivan was peacefully thinking of the flowers that glowed a brilliant yellow. In his dreams, the field was as it was in his imagination, and the glow from the golden flowers caused tears to flow down his face. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

The dreams soon became his second escape.

As Ivan spent several years battling his broken mind, the only thing keeping him sane was the field and the wild, blooming flowers the color of sunlight. He relished the feeling of happiness in his heart and the peace in his mind when he slept and dreamed those sweet dreams. Decades passed and everything was well. Maybe, Ivan had thought, peace will stay forever this time.

But he had hoped in vain.

In the year 1914, the beginning of the World War surfaced. Russia was thrust into the chaos unexpectedly, unwillingly.

On September the 17th of 1914, Ivan tiredly came home drained with a headache, collapsed onto the dirty snow, and upon closing his eyes, realized that his dreams were changed. The nightmares had come back. The field and flowers were still there, but the background was now dark red, opposed to its normally blue one. In the dream, he had frantically scrambled to smooth out the flowers' petals only to find them stained with chalky blood. Ivan had woken up screaming, the snow pressing down upon him again.

The torment was back, the torture continuously severing him. It seemed as though, this time, things were worse. He grew more unstable, but unlike before, Ivan kept it inside until he was well away from others and gradually emptied his emotions by harming himself. Alone, in the cold world of Russia, Ivan sadly tore at his body and shredded his feelings into bit and pieces of nothing.

"Я стану самым холодны на этой планете," he had whispered to the icy wind. "And others will continue to hate me… for the hatred I hold in myself."